Why Don't We
by acidic paper
Summary: Sex drabbles; RussiaAmerica & CanadaAmerica
1. RusAm: Rough

Alfred bucks against him as much as he can with Ivan's large hand on his thigh, pushing him back and pushing _hard_ into his skin. His ass is bare, but hot, red with marks from Ivan's hand (almost as red as his cock.) He wants to spread his legs further, grind himself into Ivan's lap for relief since Ivan gives him none, but he can't move much more with his pants around his thighs. He doesn't care if he rips them in two, he wants_ more_, so he moves and bucks and tenses his thighs but with a simple _No_ from Ivan he stops.

"This isn't your time to play, Alfred."

And he knows, but he never listens. His hands are already tied behind his back with Ivan's black tie and his wrists are a little sore from the tight knot, but it'd stopped him from touching—himself and Ivan.

Alfred whines in response, bites his lip, _whimpers_, but Ivan doesn't indulge him. (Alfred's used to getting what he wants the moment he asks and he hates Ivan a little right now. He hasn't touched his cock, hasn't kissed him, just digs his hands into Alfred's skin, scratches him, spanks him until he's red.)

Alfred wants to bury his face in to Ivan's neck, kiss and lick and bite, but as he scrapes his teeth against pale skin Ivan runs a hand through his hair and _pulls_, sharp and quick.

_Cocktease_ is what Alfred hears, low and rough in his ear with another angry pull on his hair.

He can't help but smirk.


	2. CanAm: Bits

Alfred rushes home, expectant. His mouth is still a little sore from the weekend and he gnaws at the corners. (When he smiles they stretch, tender like, but that makes his smile grow wider.) He misses Matthew's hands running over his jaw, misses Matthew's thumb tugging at him and making him suck on his fingers, being praised afterwards for how well he listened.

He leaves his jacket somewhere in the kitchen and the door unlocked—his bit is in the bedroom and he's been aching for most of the day to play with it, biting and grinding his teeth against it, moving his tongue around the smooth metal. He moans, soft and eager, when he buckles it in place. (He thinks of leaving the reigns on for when Matthew gets home-coming behind him and tugging them taught.)

He's calm, but his heart is seems to beat even faster. He gnaws at the slick metal half hard, but he knows not to take care of himself until Matthew is home.

(Alfred always promises and Matthew always remembers to take cares of him.)

He unzips himself, and God, he wants to _touch_, but Matthew wouldn't be pleased to find him with his hand around his cock and a bit in his mouth on the edge of the bed. (_Selfish_, he'd say, and his calm voice would go against his words,_ this isn't what I asked you to do, Alfred._) He chooses a cock ring and stretches it over himself, whimpers when he let's go and it's tight around the base of his cock, flushing red and hard.

(Sometimes it just _begins_, like someone's flipped a switch, and Alfred becomes a little more obedient, a little more willing, and Matthew begins to notice how Alfred responds to praise.

It can be as simple as _finish the laundry, then make the bad _and Alfred takes the directions to heart, finishes each and every task he's asked to do and the more Matthew asks of him the more sexual it seems to get.

Alfred's harder with every dish he washes and dries off and Matthew watches him, a little curious.

It turns into_ Once you've finished, shower and take care of yourself, alright?) _


	3. CanAm: Early Morning

It's still too early when Alfred wakes up. He drifts towards the large window in the hotel room, the sheet he'd stolen from Matthew in the middle of the night halfheartedly covering his shoulders. The sun's barely colored anything beyond a few hues of dull gray, but the clouds don't look as angry as they had. He hopes it doesn't rain today.

He can hear Matthew stir behind him and hopes crawling out of bed hasn't woken him, but once he feels a warm hand pressing against his back through the sheet he knows that isn't the case.

Alfred speaks softly. He doesn't want to break this fragile early morning that's settled over them. "I didn't mean to wake you."

He receives an_ Mm _in response and a kiss against his neck. Matthew presses against him, solid and warm (and _God_, he craves warmth). Alfred lets the sheet drops between them as Matthew pushes him flush against the window. The glass is cold against Alfred's cheek, but the hands Matthew is running up his sides are _so unbearably warm_ and he can feel Matthew's small smile against his back, lips chapped from sleep scratching lightly.

He wants the world to see them in that moment and how neatly they fit together, Matthew's fingers in between Alfred's as he covers them on the glass, a little ring of fog floating around them.

Alfred barely hears him whisper _is this alright_ against his neck and all he can think is _more warmth, god _yes_ this is alright_, and he gives a sluggish nod.

Matthew slips easily between his thighs and Alfred presses them tighter around his cock. He hears Matthew hiss and smirks against the glass.

He hopes someone is watching when they come.


	4. CanAm: Space

Alfred's flush against Matthew, hip bone knocking hip bone.

"Tell me what you see," and Alfred smiles like a sunrise, getting brighter and brighter until Matthew has to close his eyes to think.

He wonders if the rest of Alfred's bones glow bright, just like his cities from space—traces his hand across Alfred's collarbone and opens his eyes, half expecting a halogen glow under his finger tips.

Alfred whines and pushes closer.

"Tell me?"

Matthew traces a hand down Alfred's chest and watches his face—that pretty smile fading into something nervous and dark until Matthew finally understands what Alfred wants.

He hums and smiles, kisses Alfred's jaw quick.

"I can see the sun setting over you. I like watching your cities start to glow, like strange stars."

Alfred threads his fingers with Matthew's and sits up, straddling pale thighs.

Matthew points to a thick vein in Alfred's arm and follows it up and up until it disappears just below his shoulder.

"I can see your rivers flowing and pulsing and disappear into the night and hazy lights."

He can feel Alfred's cock against brush his belly, warm and hard and angry red. He tugs on Alfred's hand, still laced with his, and kisses his fingers.

"I can see each border city, a little brighter than the last."

This time Alfred gasps, shallow and quick, and he squirms in Matthew's lap. He's too pretty like this, mouth open and face flushed as red as his cock.

Matthew's heartbeat is pounding in his ears watching Alfred—tracing slender fingers across his sides and down his thighs. "I like being able to see all of you."

Alfred nods. He tries to speak but words are crushed under the weight of _space _and _Matthew seeing every piece of him somewhere out there in dark nothingness_; he's breathless and shaking and circling his hips against Matthew's cock.

Matthew digs a hand into Alfred's thigh, tries to steady the trembling, but those vibrations are nice, so he just hums and moves his hips slow and sweet in time with Alfred's.

"And In the morning I get to see the sun rise over you, all orange hued and soft."

Alfred bites his lip and chokes on a whine, comes hard and warm across Matthew's chest and Matthew just kisses him, chaste and easy and watches Alfred glow.


End file.
